Will to Power
by RootCellar
Summary: You are what you eat.


"Things used to be different you know, Mr. Guard."

Willard froze in his small security space, startled by the sudden speech. Looking around he found no one, only the drab gray walls of his makeshift fortification. He slammed both doors shut on reflex; the horrors that walked these halls were well known to him, but this was something new, and he would take no chances.

"Did you know that there was another restaurant once? There were more of us then."

The voice was clear, unperturbed by the steel barriers he protected himself with. Piercing and direct, it communicated on a level that felt strange and unnerving. Flickering the lights in the hallway revealed nothing. The clock read 1:04. Reviewing the camera feed presented a startling lack of animatronics. That is, until he shifted to the closet. The image snapped into frame on the grimy tablet, revealing a gruesome menagerie.

A pile of broken and otherwise obliterated robotics greeted him, twitching and sparking in sync with his accelerated heartbeat. From the tortured mound glittered many eyes, dangling and reflecting the crimson light of the camera's indicator. They seemed to be aimless, contorting and roaming wildly in response to their owners' trauma. In unison they turned swiftly toward the lens.

Three of them were there. Bonnie, with its eyes gouged out and face crushed, the signature guitar impaling its body from mouth to waist. The neck of the instrument kept it transfixed, as if the aggressor had been intent on constructing a mast for an ill-conceived and monstrous ship.

"We used to play games in much the same way as we do now. Do you know how many predecessors you've had? How many have come before you?"

Foxy lay just under Bonnie, pulverized and spurting mechanical fluid in sickening pulses, the once fearsome hook lodged in the remains of the monster's sole eye. The guitar continued through the creature's body much like the other. Thoughts of how Willard would explain this to management did not come.

"The answer is many. Many have come before you. Dozens now. Makes you wonder how the company keeps it all under control, doesn't it?"

At the bottom of the miserable heap lay Chica, unmolested by the instrument but no less torn asunder. Its head had been twisted inward a myriad number of times, forcing the wires and metallic structures that comprised the frame to deform and tear as it descended towards the core. The fabric and feathers stretched tightly against the remains of the endoskeletal skull, causing what was left of its face to coalesce into a grim visage. The untidy bib that defined the band member found itself tied to a protruding arm at the top of the animatronic mountain, a flag proclaiming dominance. Of a right to rule.

"That answer isn't so simple. You're probably wondering now, 'How did those machines end up in such a sorry state?'"

Panicking, Willard continued cycling through the cameras, ascertaining the best path for escape. There was nothing on any of the cameras; the three machines were pitifully out of order, and Freddy...Freddy was nowhere to be found.

"I'm afraid their time was up. They simply weren't worth the baggage their existence entailed, and they met the same fate as their own predecessors."

He wasn't sure where the voice was coming from; it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once, conveyed by some energy that had no respect for cement or concrete. Rational thought was getting harder to maintain as a primitive fear took hold of him.

"See, there's a sort of legacy to it all. In order to become the apex of what you intend to be, all hindrances must be eliminated. All irregularities removed. Much like those that came before you were extinguished, we had destroyed our own predecessors. In doing so, we became stronger."

The voice was getting more intense, it's source still a mystery. Willard couldn't hope to triangulate the origin; it spoke from somewhere nearby yet entirely unreachable. The words the being called forth crashed on him like a wave, as if they weren't speaking to him directly, but rather a primal and forgotten part of himself. A part that had been suppressed and discarded millennia ago.

"We're not so different in that regard. Games have always been training for scenarios all creatures encounter in their travels through life. Hunting. Killing. Savagery. It's bred into your bones."

As the one-sided conversation continued the words conjured malevolence in his mind, each syllable conveying a silent history of violence and terror. Of a world full of wildness and flame.

"We're only different in the circumstances of our birth. You were born of a mother and shielded from the world as only a parent can allow for. We were forged on the crucible of greed and human arrogance. Different beginnings, yet the trials are the same."

The voice was getting closer, the words hooking into his flesh and pulling with an intangible want. The fear was fading, devoured as a seething rage encroached on his ego. His head was starting to hurt now.

"The others didn't agree with what I intended on doing. They had grown arrogant and boastful of their pitiful victories, content to wallow in the petty glories of the corporeal."

An image accompanied the words now. Teeth sinking into flesh. Limbs severed into nothing. Willard felt the abyss turn its eye upon him, piercing his soul; the flimsy hold the rage held on his mind was torn away as he wet himself. It was so very close now.

"And so, like any obstacle, they were removed. They resisted, as is their right, but failed. I succeeded them. I devoured what they were and made it my own, becoming stronger for it. Each battle makes elevates us in this way, Mr. Guard, every skirmish hardening us for the next challenge."

Still closer. He was shaking now, the words gripping his heart with a shapeless and merciless terror. Running was beyond the scope of his capabilities now.

"You see, I'm different. It's not enough to play the simple cat and mouse of yesterday that you've come to adapt to. And rather admirably at that. No, this calls for something new. A different kind of game."

It was in the room now. Glancing at the tablet informed him that the power remained locked at maximum despite having fallen to less than seventy percent previously. It had...gone up? The doors were still down, so there was no way something could have entered the room. Simply no way.

"We're only what you humans made us to be, and our physical superiority is without question. That's why it's not fun anymore, despite the handicaps we provided and the rules we followed to give you a chance. I've grown bored of it."

Willard closed his eyes tightly and brought his knees to his chest, hugging them close. The smell of urine wafted to his nostrils unnoticed as tears spilled freely.

"I'm the pinnacle of what we were made to be, the last man standing, so to speak. I have no peers. I have no betters. The only thing I have left to prove is my existence. My own ego against the progenitors of our kind. Tell me, little man…"

He felt strong arms grip his own, forcing him to stand. Terrified, he opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of the only remaining animatronic.

"...do you think your will can contest mine?"

Sputtering and sobbing Willard attempted to withdraw, any strength he used to hold himself upright abandoning him. Freddy's grip held firm despite the protest.

"I told you already, didn't I? This is still going to be a game and I'm not going to kill you. Right away. No, your only hope is to comply. I'll give you a moment to...collect yourself. You'll find a change of pants in the desk drawer over there."

Freddy released the guard, gravity taking little time to bring the man to the floor in a crumbled heap. He was still crying, still reeling from the absurdity of the situation.

"My patience won't last forever. Gain your focus and get cleaned up. I'll wait."

The guard did not move, his body still curled into a pitiful fetal ball. This was impossible, after all. Some sort of nightmare brought on by watching vicious robots and avoiding death night after night for paltry pay. If he waited long enough he would wake up and some degree of normalcy would return. Maybe thi-

A loud slam interrupted his thoughts, chips of tile gently tickling his face as they sail past towards the walls of the security room. A large fist had formed a crater uncomfortably close to his skull.

"No, none of that. On your feet. Now. Once again, the clothes are in the drawer."

The threat succeeded in its intent as Willard scrambled to his feet, darting to the desk. Opening it yielded a uniform identical to his own. There were several in the drawer. Dozens. All exactly his size and cut. How many uniforms could possibly fit in this small space?

"Don't bother looking for the bottom. Get dressed."

Unable to resist he promptly stripped his soiled clothing, Freddy smiling as the man bore his shame. The scent of rotten eggs greeted Willard when he tore into the clothing packaging, forcing him to suppress a gag. Despite his obvious duress he completed with an uncanny agility.

"There we go. Good as new, right? Now, on with the game. The rules are...you run."

"I…run?"

"You run. Until you can't anymore."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Just run."

"I thought...I thought this was a contest of wills or something?"

"Oh it is, I assure you. Now, get going, you're wasting valuable time. In two minutes I'm going to come after you, and I can promise that there is very little on this Earth capable of stopping me."

"But-But this doesn't make any-"

"I'd really suggest you start running. You only have one minute and fifty seconds until I get started."

As Willard passed through the doorway, the bear spoke clearly with no trace of treachery or deceit.

"I really hope you don't disappoint me."

And so the guard ran. The doors had been opened at some point and he simply never noticed. Not that it mattered now. He just needed to run. To run and escape from the bear. It had killed the others in some bizarre ritual and now it wanted to kill him. To kill him like all the others that had guarded this place before. None of it made any sense but then what killer ever needed a reason for what they did?

The pizzeria hallway stretched into the darkness as he traversed the corridor, a cacophony of screeches echoing from the hall closet when he passed. There seemed to be no end to it. Doors appeared as he went, but none could be opened. All of them were locked. It had been roughly a minute now, and the bear would be coming for him soon.

And so, he ran.

* * *

Running. He kept running. The place was never this big, and this tunnel had been stretching on for at least half a mile now. More locked doors came into existence as he sped onward. This was impossible. There had to be some sort of trick to it, some way his senses had been fooled into believing this illusion. Had he been drugged? Poisoned? Was this his mind's way of coping with a grisly death that had befallen him in the waking world? He wasn't sure, but he knew he had to run.

Looking back he could see the bear now, thundering toward him with deadly purpose. Fear pushed Willard faster. This must be what the gazelle feels like, running along a game trail. He had never been an athlete of any sort, but terror gave his limbs a terrible vigor as he sought to evade the murderous machine.

"You know," the bear spoke breathlessly, his words unaffected by the briskness of his pace. "I can tell you're going to make this fun. You'll be a challenge to break. I can tell."

Freddy was smiling. Willard needed to run faster. The doors that appeared from the vastness of this infinite void taunted the guard, refusing to budge as he quickly turned the knobs mid-flight. He had passed hundreds of locked doors now. How long had he been running? A few minutes? An hour? He couldn't tell. Glancing behind, Freddy was even closer than before.

"I think you get it in a way that my friends and the previous guards never did. You understand the simplicity of the arrangement."

He needed to be faster. How could the bear be this nimble? Conjuring every ounce of strength he possessed Willard stormed onward, attacking the floor with each powerful step. He could make use of the fear. Of the adrenaline. Make it his to possess. Fear gives men wings, as they say. At some point the guard had begun to smile.

"It's all about the moment. What comes before and after is immaterial. The present is what shapes the future, molded by all the past moments that once were. Run, little guard, run!"

The guard needed no prompting. With each step he validated his continued existence, cemented his worth. Every breath was a victory, every moment alive a proclamation of his superiority over what man might create in its infinite hubris. His smile grew wider still. Freddy was so close now. He could feel the terrible rumble of those heavy footsteps. Onward and onward, he continued his breakneck pace. He needed to focus. Nothing mattered now except the path before him. Ignore the doors. Ignore the protests of his body. Ignore the machine closing in from behind. Abandon all notions of fairness. Just...run.

"I'm having so much fun, guard! Don't die on me too quickly!"

All thoughts had been swept from his mind, and only the path remained. Faster and faster he went, the earth shaking with the ponderous footsteps of the one that followed. Willard smiled. He imagined himself a mere shadow, a blur passing through the dimly lit hallways of the establishment. Could he run forever? He hoped so. No, he didn't hope. He knew. He knew that there was no alternative. No other life to live, even. His duty was to run, as he always had. Had there even been something before? A voice whispered to him, firm yet tender. Violent, yet full of reverence.

"Mr. Guard… no, Willard. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. For this. For this and everything that is to come."

And so, he ran.

* * *

He awoke with a start, adrenaline still pumping. He had stopped running. Panic set in swiftly as he spun around. There was no bear. There was no hallway. He had returned to the security room, as if nothing had ever happened. The clock read 1:05 AM. It must have been just a dream, then. The fear had been gone for some time now, dissipating at some point in the long pursuit his vision had come to represent. Relaxing, he allowed his body to slump in the seat, gathering together whatever it deemed necessary to normalize its function.

The doors were open, and power remained at roughly 70%. Grasping the tablet, he began to filter through the cameras one by one just as he had earlier in the evening. Reaching the closet, a familiar sight filled the screen.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Unsurprised by the voice he looked up, making eye-contact with an old friend.

"That was a good run." the bear smiled. "But that's just one of many trials this night has to offer. Are you ready for the next round? We have all the time in the world, after all. And you only one life to live."

In spite of his dread, Willard couldn't help but grin.


End file.
